A Tale of Two Swords
by Mary Aseltyne
Summary: A young squire of Gondor meets citizens of Imladris while he waits for his Captain to return from the Council of Elrond. This story was written for a guy fan.
1. Chapter 1

Beta: Malinorne

Pairing: OMC/OFCs

Genre and Timeline: AU/a blend of both books and movie/During the Council of Elrond

Warning: Suggestive situations, nudity, some adult language. LACE laws bent in sort of the same way the Ten Commandments are bent on occasion.

Disclaimer: This story is a work of amateur fanfiction written for entertainment only and no copyright infringement on the works of JRR Tolkien or New Line is intended.

Summary: We all know about Boromir, but very few know about his young squire, a soldier of Gondor, who has time to kill in Imladris while waiting for his Captain to return from the Council of Elrond.

A/N: This story was written for a man who I have never met, a fan of the movies and its weapons and Mal's and my website, who wanted to read about what it would be like to meet up with an elf lady. If FFNet had a LOTR movies category, I probably would have put this there. I know that the broken sword was not presentedas a shrine in the book, and that Boromir did not have a squire, and I know that when elves have sex they are considered married. And I also know elves are nearly holy and sainted and to portray them as otherwise is practically blasphemy, but I don't care. I think that sometimes ellith, like girls, just want to have fun.

**Chapter One**

_Seek for the sword that was broken_

_In Imladris it dwells..._

As Conner and his Captain navigated downwards on the narrow zig-zagging path, an excellent defense against marauding bands of orcs the young squire noted, towards the bottom of the valley of Imladris, he heard continuous rustling noises in the branches of the trees along the way that could not have been made by any wind, as there was not even a breath of a breeze. He felt watched.

They were finally greeted by solemn tall elves at the last bridge, and Conner was pleased at the respectful deference that his Captain was shown while he answered their questions.

"Hail, man of Gondor," one of them had said, revealing a surprising knowledge of his identity. "What news, pray tell, do you bring from the White City for our lord that you have traveled all this distance to tell it?"

As they spoke, the other silent elves noticeably regarded the two of them with great care, as if taking in the tale of their long journeying that was told by the rents and stains in their traveling clothes. These tall, solemn folk appeared neither pleased nor disturbed with the presence of unexpected guests, but Conner did wish that he was more presentable.

While he waited for his Captain to be let on the bridge, he glanced around at the trees that surrounded them here and was startled to see eyes peering out at him from behind the autumn-colored foliage of a nearby oak. They were not hostile or suspicious, merely curious and friendly. For no particular reason, he felt intrigued by those eyes, even after their owner had disappeared back into the tree.

As they entered the courtyard of the home of the Half-elven Lord of Imladris, it was obvious that the entire valley was watchful and wary of the newcomers. But as soon as Elrond himself had appeared to greet the Captain in friendship, there seemed to be a great sigh of relief all around them, and merry laughter rang out as smiling elves poured forth from the large manse and greeted them warmly.

They were made comfortable in adequate guest lodgings; although Conner thought the Elflord should have had an immediate audience withthem instead. They were brought breakfast, the first hot meal they had eaten in months that did not taste scorched by campfire, which lightened both of their moods, and told of a council, which was to be held that day. Only the Steward's son was invited; his squire was instructed to wait behind.

At first, Conner was outraged that his Captain was going to be surrounded by a group of strangers, who neither of them had ever met, without him there to keep an eye on all of them. Boromir assured his squire that there was no danger, and gave him permission to relax and enjoy his afternoon of leisure.

Conner wandered the great house slowly, peering into the dim inner rooms, lit by only a few flickering candles, and hesitated for a moment before entering one that looked brighter than the rest and more inviting. It was a large room full with books and scrolls, but not like the dust-filled disorganized library in Minas Tirith, this one had a clean and wholesome air about it. At the back, where there were comfortable chairs arranged for reading, tall windows let in beams of brilliant sunlight.

"Have you never been in a library before?" The voice from behind startled him so much that he half drew his sword from its scabbard before he whirled to confront the speaker. Stunned, he stood silent when he saw that he was up close one of the beautiful creatures who inhabited this valley, and he had not even heard her approach.

He had not been this close to an elf in his life. She was as tall as he, with hair the color of golden honey that fell in waves over her shoulders, to her elbows. Her eyes were gray and keen and her gown glittered with sparkling threads.

"Yes," he finally sputtered out. "I have often been in the greatest library that exists, in Gondor, where my home is," he replied proudly, confident that he was right about that. This elven collection of books and scrolls might be large, but it would have fit into one corner of the Minas Tirith library. However, she did not seem impressed.

"Why have you come so far from your home?" The elf lady turned away from him after asking, and sat on a bench while gesturing for him to sit beside her. At first he was not sure what he should say to her, not that he thought there was much to hide that would not soon be common knowledge. She appeared interested, and that was new for him, so he decided he could say a little to satisfy her.

He explained, carefully, how his Captain, who was Boromir, the son of Denethor, who was the Steward of Gondor, had come to this place seeking the meaning of a vision brought to both him and his brother, Faramir, in separate dreams. The brothers had heard a voice in their shared dream that had counseled them to seek for a broken sword in the far northern dale of Imladris. Conner, as a faithful squire to his Captain, had been with him every step of the way to see to it that no one halted or hindered that quest.

All that the people of Gondor, and he, had known before today about Imladris was that the valley was home to Elrond the Halfelven, who was deemed wisest of all the wise. Also, it was reportedly a dwelling place of many others that were learned in the lore of Middle-earth from its most ancient beginnings.

"If any would know the answer to the riddle that the brothers of Gondor both dreamed about," Conner told her, "then they would abide here or nowhere." For a time after he finished, the elf just looked at him, with a dreamy expression on her otherwise placid face.

"Ah, an innocent you are, I can tell by your eyes," she said finally with a sly smile. Conner was not sure what she meant; he certainly did not consider himself that way.

"I am no innocent, fair maid," he said slowly, not sure if he should go into any gruesome details about the bloodshed he had witnessed in his life, and decided against it. "Indeed," he continued, more sure of himself, "in my travels, while in the company of my Captain, I have seen much with these eyes that would cause many men to tremble with fear and loathing."

As he spoke, another elf maid joined them, who seemed to be identical in every way to the first, including the gown that she wore. She stood still and cocked her head at him before speaking.

"What my sister means," she said pertly, "is that you have never lain with a woman yet, have you?" Without asking, she sat on the bench next to Conner on his other side. A subtle fragrance floated up from her hair to tickle his nose. Her face was just as fair as the first one's and her white skin seemed to shine from within.

Momentarily, he was stunned both by the question and the nearness of such beautiful women, that he could not bring himself to speak. The elf maidens sat quietly, smiling at him, while he considered how to answer.

"You will have to excuse my ignorance of your curious ways of carrying on conversations with strangers," he finally replied. "But my... private life is not usually the affair of any other besides myself, nor do I consider such matters proper for polite conversation." As he spoke, the beautiful elves moved closer to him.

"But we are not strangers anymore, man of the south," said the first elf.

"At least," said the other, who put her hand on his knee as she spoke, "we would like to get to know you better while you are visiting here." Her fingers on his leg were slender and pale, their weight a diversion. "My name is Glorchiniel," she told him.

"And my name is Glawareth," said the first. "What is your name, man of Gondor?"

"Conner, son of Hedrik, squire to Captain Boromir of the White City," he announced with pride. And judging from their similarity, he reasoned that they must be sisters, and identical twins at that.

"Would you care to see the broken sword, Conner?" The one named Glorchiniel asked.

"We can show it to you," said her sister. Conner's head swiveled back and forth as they spoke and he felt something like a puppet whose head was being jerked to and fro.

"The... the sword that was broken?" He asked one and then turned to the other to say, "It is here?" He was astonished that they were privy to this valuable information that his Captain had traveled so far to learn.

"Come with me, the sword is not a secret here," said Glorchiniel, as she stood and beckoned at Conner to follow her. "It is one of our most honored artifacts."

Glawareth stood too, and he rose quickly to offer her his elbow, which was how he had been trained to treat ladies. When she slipped her hand through his arm, and smiled right into his eyes, he felt a thrill race through his body. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head slightly as they walked down the corridor behind her sister.

"When is the last time you bathed, Conner son of Hedrik?" Another strange question. "And are all soldiers in Gondor as shaggy-haired as you are?" She cast her eyes over his head and shoulders, as if she was familiar with the required grooming of a soldier.

It took a moment of confused mumblings before Conner could reply. His Captain had warned him to be cautious in his speech around the Fair Folk, who were rumored to be clever to the point of deviousness when seeking information.

"You must decline to reply to any queries into the defenses of the White City," he had been ordered. "Do not be lured into discussing the strength of arms in Gondor and those of our allies. Or the condition of the outer walls and the security of the perimeter of the Pelennor." He was ready to be tortured for information by formidable foes, just to prove how well he could keep it all a secret.

But he had not been told how to answer questions about his sanitary practices. Especially not by women, who normally should never be concerned with anything beneath the surface of his chain mail and trousers, unless they were his wife. Perhaps elves had a different point of view about common courtesy, but this was beyond his experience.

"My Captain and I," he finally said, after choosing his words carefully, in case he said anything that would offend sensitive ears, "have been traveling through the wild for the time of three moons and more, fair ladies. In all of that time, our opportunities to find adequate lodgings with hot water for bathing were rare."

He decided not to tell them of all of the times that Boromir had ordered him to strip down to his skin and dip himself in whatever likely stream or river that they ran across. His Captain, the son of the Steward of Gondor, had been raised in semi-royal conditions and had odd high-born ideas about cleanliness.

Bathing naked in broad daylight had been embarrassing enough and Conner did not want to bring up any memories of it, lest he blush and shame himself. To his relief, his answer seemed to satisfy Glawareth, and they walked in silence behind her sister, up a staircase, and onto a wide hall, with tall opened windows that stretched from floor to ceiling.

In a place of honor, well lit by the sun's rays, on a bed of dark velvet, gleamed the shards of a sword, and next to it lay an ancient leather scabbard. Conner stared at the sacred mementos of a distant age until his eyes grew bleary with strain. What did it mean? He only hoped that Boromir would know. The kind of hero who bore this weapon would not be seen again.

"Is there anything else that you would like to see?" Glorchiniel stood close to him on his other side from her sister, who was still holding his elbow. "That might help you to feel less a stranger?"

"I have an idea of where to go next," said Glawareth. "And we will get to know each other very well, and accomplish a worthy goal at the same time. A soldier of Gondor should think that a desirable pastime." She smiled at her sister and then looked up at Conner. "How brave are you, young squire?"

"Brave enough," Conner replied without thinking, and then paused to regret it. What did she have in mind that required courage? It was not as if he was afraid of having to engage in combat with these flower-like creatures, whose slender frames and delicate limbs posed no obvious threat to him.

Conner was well trained in grappling with men larger than he, and had even won contests at hand-to-hand fighting back in Minas Tirith. He was confident that he would have no difficulty subduing either of these elf twins, should one decide to attack him, or both. The idea excited him.

"You may have to shed some of your notions," said Glorchiniel, who took his free elbow and tugged him away from the broken sword.

"And a few other things," added Glawareth, as they led him out of they hall. "You will have to be very brave." More than that, they did not say. Their riddling speech was too mysterious for him to fathom, and he let them guide him along, not seeing any reason to prevent them from doing so.

They took him back down the stairway and then out of the house altogether. And he wondered at the ease with which these cunning people had lured him away from his Captain, when he finally realized what had happened. He stopped in his tracks, forcing them to halt on either side of him.

"Where are you taking me?" Conner looked back over his shoulder, expecting to see enemies of Gondor swarming into the house, now that he had left his Captain unguarded and vulnerable to attack. But all was peaceful and quiet.

"We are there now," they answered in unison, as if he should have known and was being foolish to ask. They were standing in front of a low-roofed structure that he took for some kind of garden shed. It appeared to be a large, upside down bowl, made from latticework and covered with vines bearing honeysuckle flowers. "Come inside," they beckoned, after releasing his arms and opening the gate.

Within was a round, steaming tub of water, sunk into the earth, the likes of which Conner would have imagined one would find in a palace of a great king in his glory. Its sunken edges were bordered with curved slabs of polished marble. The bright day's sunlight was filtered through the vines above, which cast a cool green shade over the stone and water.

"Do you need any help undressing?" Asked Glawareth, who sat on a stool beside the pool, and removed her slippers. "You seem to have many layers of clothing."

Conner looked down at his leather jerkin, which covered the knee-length tabard that he wore over his fine chain mail. Under which was his woolen shirt and beneath that was his linen undershirt, and below his waist he wore trousers that were tucked into his high leather boots. He did not think he had that many layers on, however, as he was not dressed for winter.

But when Glorchiniel was ready to sit on the stool to remove her shoes, her unshod sister stood and lifted her own dress off in one graceful motion, revealing milk-white skin that gleamed in the fingers of sunlight that stabbed down from above as she moved through them while she entered the pool. She wore nothing beneath her gown, he noted numbly, not slip nor chemise, nor corset, nor, well, anything. He was astonished.

Nearly leaping, he was startled by hands at his chest, and realized that he had not torn his eyes from the naked elf woman, whose riveting form was still vaguely visible even beneath the swirling bath water, and had forgotten what he was doing, or where he was. Glorchiniel stood before him, her fingers busy undoing the fastenings of his vest and he was too weak to stop her, or assist in any way.

For a short time, fleeting fears almost overwhelmed him, such as what if someone came in and saw them? Or, what if Boromir called for him? But the thoughts faded in importance as each new layer of his clothes were removed by the skillful elf fingers. When she came to the long undershirt, which reached his knees once his trousers had been removed, she put her hand over her mouth and giggled.

"Do you wear this to sleep in? I have only heard stories about such garments." She sounded almost grateful for the opportunity to witness his underwear, as if it was sewn from the stuff of legends. "But I could never have imagined they would look this peculiar."

But when she reached to pull the long shirt off of Conner, he balked, and stopped her. He had enough trouble being naked in front of his superiors upon command, but to be with members of the fairer sex? It was unheard of, and unplanned for, and he had nothing to compare it to. Besides all of that, his private parts were betraying him by responding improperly, despite his strongest efforts to subdue his arousal.

"I think that maybe you need some incentive," said the patient Glorchiniel, and she stepped back from him and removed her own gown, as her sister had done before, in one smooth movement. "It is rude in this valley," she told him, "to remain clothed in front of a naked elleth in the bathhouse."

Irregardless of his desire to be gentlemanly, as a good soldier should, he was dumbstruck and unable to do more than stare. The elleth, as she had called herself, seemed pleased to be ogled at by him, and did nothing to cover herself for the sake of modesty. She seemed happy to have the chance to educate him. And he was a more than willing student.

Her breasts were full, with pale pink peaks atop the perfect roundness, and her waist was small enough for his hands to circle, he believed. But the most amazing thing about her body was that beside the waterfall of golden tresses that floated around her shapely shoulders, she was completely without hair on any other part of her body. As his eyes traveled lower he suspicions were confirmed. Now he knew he could not remove his shirt. Rude or not.

However, even his doughty undershirt could not disguise the size or scope of his manly distress, and Glorchiniel's eyes were caught by the slight jerking motions beneath the linen, and widened with appreciation at the tell-tale bulge. He stood still, unable to move, as she stepped forward and grasped him through the garment, and then all he could do was gasp.

"You must not swaddle such a worthy sword, young squire," she chided him. "Such a fine weapon should be unsheathed often and polished to a high shine."

"And I want to polish it first," added her sister, from the bath. "Do stop taking so much time getting him undressed."

Without letting go of his most private part, the elleth used her other hand to lift the undershirt as far as it would go before meeting her grasping hand and tugged to suggest its removal. She shot him a questioning glance, and he nodded, unable to speak. Finally she released him, and he removed his shirt by himself, breathing out a sigh when it was off and tossed aside. Glorchiniel smiled at him and held out her hand to lead him down into the water, and her sister clapped her hands.

He had, despite their assumptions, lain with a woman once before. She was a courtesan of the court of Gondor, and much older than he. It had been quick, and passionless, done mostly on a dare. Neither of them had removed their clothes, the act had taken place in a closet, and was over with before he was even sure it had begun. But he had always counted it as a milestone in his life as a man.

It had certainly not prepared him for these sisters.

To be continued.


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: Conner is bathed

A/N: A mix of book, movie, and my own imagination. If there was a LOTR movie category, I would have posted there. And, yes, I know, when elves have sex they are married. But not in my AU.

**Chapter 2**

"Will you look at the hair on his legs and his... chest," said Glawareth. Her eyes were fixed on a different part of Conner's body, however, as she swam over to inspect the young soldier while Glorchiniel coaxed him into the sunken tub. "I can not wait to run my fingers through it." She raised her eyes to his upper torso and smiled appreciatively.

Conner had never felt proud or ashamed about his level of hairiness before, although if anything he felt he lacked a sufficiently manly pelt on his chest. But around these ethereal creatures of Imladris, with their porcelain-smooth skin and graceful limbs, he felt like a fur-covered bear and just as clumsy.

There were short steps inside the sunken tub that led him deeper and deeper into the steaming water. He wanted to hurry and submerge himself, but it was hard to move quickly. As soon as his feet touched the water, his previous embarrassing level of arousal subsided, and he had to fight to not wince from the pain.

The bath was much hotter than Conner had suspected, and the elves seemed to take no notice of the uncomfortable temperature, which shamed him. He had only entered as deep as his calves when he paused and then lifted one leg a few inches. It was alarming to see that the lower part was uniformly red, and he was torn between wanting to prove that he was man enough to endure the skin-scalding heat as well as these women could and an urge to jump back out and save his human skin.

"What is it, man of Gondor?" Glorchiniel seemed to notice that his hesitation had nothing to do with modesty. "Can you not abide the heat?" She made a slight gesture with her hands at Glawareth, who moved to the side of the tub and opened some sort of valve built into the edge there to release a stream of what must have been cold water. New clouds of wispy steam rose from where it poured into the bath. It took a few minutes for the effect to be felt, but Conner was soon better able to step in deeper and eventually was up to his neck.

The depth was another surprise. He had not expected it to be over his waist, much less over his head. The dappled sunlight on the steamy surface made it difficult to judge until he was actually inside of it. It was very unlike the bath he used in his barracks back in Gondor, which was long and shallow and stood up from the earth floor of the bathhouse on blocks. The soap he was issued at home burned his skin and eyes more than the heat of the water, which was usually tepid, but he never complained. He had never considered bathing to be a leisure activity, as these elves seemed to do.

But for all of their flirtatious ways and grabbing of his private parts, once he was in the bath with them everything changed. Instead of continuing with their advances, they insisted on getting him clean. His hair, Glorchiniel insisted, appeared to be the host to several kinds of living creatures and Glawareth announced that his skin needed to be uncovered from beneath the layers of soil he had collected in his travels. The occasional cold baths in lakes and streams had only sealed it all in.

Conner was ordered to dunk himself under the water a few times, to wet his head. After that he was brought back to the steps to sit, and they began to wash his hair. Together, they applied a soft soap to his head, massaging it into his scalp. It had a fresh clean scent to it, like a forest after a rain shower. They scooped it out of a jar that sat in a ledge built into the side of the tub behind the top step. He saw more jars and other items there that he recognized, like cleaning cloths, sponges and brushes, and a few things that he had never seen before.

Glorchiniel was the first to apply some of the soap to the hair on his chest, and then Glawareth joined in. Here was something else, they told him, that they had only heard about, all of this hair on a manly body. They had him lift his arms and they lathered the hair there, too. It tickled, but he considered it a form of torture and endured without jerking away from their fingers.

"It is time to rinse," they said in unison and they led him off of the steps.

The inside of the tub was deeper on one end and there was a spillover trough inside the rim of the deepest side to catch the displaced water. The elleth had him hold his head so they could flush the soap in his hair out into the trough with a large ladle that sat there for that purpose.

Both of the ellith were happy with the results and they marveled at Conner's hair, now that it was free of inhabitants. It was darker than theirs, but not by much, more sandy than golden, and they thought it was delightful how it matched the hair on his chest. He had to take their word for it that it was well washed, however. There was none of the familiar skin and eye burning scald that he was familiar with from soldier's soap, but he supposed the milder concoction of the elves had made him just as clean.

At that point, Conner was feeling very relaxed, more relaxed than he could ever recall being, let alone than he had felt since he and Boromir had set out on their rigorous quest. After submerging him into the hot water, these women had not advanced any farther with their curious sexually aggressive actions. They ran their fingers through his clean hair, commenting on its texture and it felt wonderful. His whole scalp tingled.

He had to wonder if the seductive act that they had put on earlier was a ruse, a subtle ploy, to entice a smelly human into the bath, but he was oddly grateful for that alone. Being up to his neck in a bath was a new sensation for him, and every weary place in his body felt renewed, and every sore place restored. The gentle massaging fingers on his scalp had worked wonders on his agitated spirits. He wondered why he had felt so nervous and hesitant.

"Come, Conner," said Glawareth, as she tugged his arm. "We need to move you back to the steps, so we can clean your skin." Her sister moved in that direction and pulled a pair of washing cloths from the ledge there. Another jar of soap was uncorked, and the aroma of freshly crushed mint filled the air. After they had him situated on a step high enough out of the water that they could reach as much of his body as possible, they began to scrub him.

The soapy cloths moved swiftly over his skin, swooping over his back, down his legs, and circling up over his shoulders and arms, and it would have been more relaxing than the hair wash, if the women were not so close to him.

Their own bare, wet skin would bump or rub or slide over his from time to time, or crush against him for breathtaking moments while a particularly vigorous scrubbing was applied somewhere, and he could not ignore these unintended caresses no matter how hard he fought it. Were they not aware of how uncommon a position this was for a mortal man? He clearly felt a nipple poking his rib and he jumped.

"What is the matter, Conner?" Glorchiniel, at his left side, leaned away from him as she waited for his response, and exposed the peak of taut flesh that was her gentle weapon. "You jump as if you had been prodded with a spear." Both tips of her breasts were puckered and he could not tear his eyes away from them, or the luscious looking flesh they sat atop. They were definitely not spears, but they probably were lethal. At least to his peace of mind.

The urge to touch this elleth was overwhelming and grew even stronger when she arched her back, thrusting the shiny wet globes into a more inviting attitude. Did she want him to grab them? It was hard to say anymore what these lovely women with their gleaming white skin were about.

However, Glawareth, at his right hand side, made a sound of annoyance, possibly at how Conner's attention was focused on her sister, and before he knew what she was going to do to remedy the situation, his hand, itching to reach out and touch the inviting Glorchiniel, was lifted from his knee and planted firmly on her sister, instead.

At first, he did not know how to proceed. He had never touched a woman's naked body before; the courtesan in the closet had a bosom that overflowed her bodice, but the best he could manage at that time was to bury his face between the plump hills, he never had a chance to see or feel them. The sensation of Glawareth's pliant flesh beneath his fingertips was a wonder in itself, but he wanted to do more.

"Go ahead," she said, as she placed her slender fingers over his large hand on her, "you can hold it." She moved so he could feel her there as a soft weight in the palm of his hand, and then she pressed his fingers to close.

"Breathe, Conner," said Glorchiniel. She was nearly hanging on his shoulder and spoke directly into his ear, tickling it. He breathed, and squeezed. Fragrant hair spilled over his shoulder, arm and chest; warm lips grazed his face, "And I want a turn, too. Were you not going to polish his sword first?" She directed this last at her sister.

"Not yet," said Glawareth, enjoying herself. "I wish you could see the look on his face, sister." Glorchiniel pressed most of her naked wet body against Conner's side as she craned around his shoulder to see for herself.

"Look at me," she ordered. But when he finally tore his eyes from Glawareth's breast beneath his grateful hand, Glorchiniel had disappeared and somehow slithered under his left arm, and was inspecting his private parts. He gulped. Her fingers lifted and held him, while she examined the area.

"This nest of hair is very unsanitary," she declared. "But it has a curious appeal, nonetheless." Her fingers first played in the curly growth of sand-colored hair that grew around his surprised male parts and then they traveled lower to investigate the softer side of his masculinity. She squeezed him there, but not hard. "I suppose I will have to take care of this," she sighed.

When her fingers abruptly left him, he felt unfinished, but unsure of how to make her continue. "He needs to be thoroughly washed, all of him, every inch of him," she pronounced sternly, with a prim smile puckering her perfect lips.

Despite her tone, her eyes had a wicked glow as she reached for the jar of cleanser and scooped up a generous amount. Conner's eyes grew wide as he watched the soap-covered hand lower itself between his legs and he groaned when she lathered him, all of him, every inch of him. And she took her time. It grew increasingly difficult to concentrate on his handful of elf breast. Glawareth assisted by moving closer, so he did not have to reach so far.

"Wait!" He gasped, and managed to remove the hand between his legs that was bringing him swiftly to a conclusion that he was not sure would be polite to share, at least not in a bath.

"Wait for what, Conner?" Glorchiniel's eyes shone with amusement. "Do not restrain your body's hunger for release. It is not healthy." Gently, she moved her hand out of his grasp to continue her self-appointed cleansing task and then she applied herself vigorously, her soaped fingers wrapped around him tighter than before. Glawareth had moved near enough to speak into his ear, and she did so now.

"It is allowed," she whispered while her sister's soapy hand drew him closer and closer to the edge of his self-control. "Do not hold yourself back." Glorchiniel appeared well aware that he was drawing near to the peak of his arousal, and resisting, for she moved her hand more quickly as if to urge him onward. With a loud cry of relief that leaped unbidden from his lips, Conner exploded, and then he saw no more but stars and heard nothing but a roaring in his ears.

All of the energy in Conner's body rushed into his loins in pulsing waves, and was expelled in spasm after spasm of pleasure under the elleth's lathered hand, until he had no more to give.

He felt himself sliding down off of the steps and into the water, and he did not care. Perhaps he would drown; it did not matter, because he would die happy. And then he was floating, he was floating in clouds, tiny wispy clouds that were all around him. It was vaguely familiar.

"Conner?" A voice, a womanly voice, was floating in the clouds with him. "Conner, have you regained your senses?" A face in the clouds, right next to his, a beautiful face, the most beautiful face he had ever seen.

"I love you," he whispered. And then there was another face, how incredible, but, oh right, he forgot, just as beautiful. "And I love you, too." But he was not dead, because he knew these faces.

Oh, he was in a bathtub, of course. With a shake of his head, Conner planted his feet and studied the ellith who smiled at him serenely as they supported him in the water. His heart banged with fear as he stared about in wonder and thought of what had just happened. Neither of the ellith seemed disturbed. Had they bewitched him?

They were all three in the deeper end of the bath, and he remembered now how he had let them lower him from the steps and pull him there. He was that limply weak all over, after he had... And he winced to think of how he had said he loved them.

"Now that we have that out of the way," said Glawareth briskly, "perhaps we can enjoy ourselves in a more relaxed fashion." They still held him at his shoulders, one on either side, and each with an arm under one of his, even though he was standing. He decided that he did not care if they had put him under some kind of elvish enchantment. Being this near to them was worth any risk.

"Have you ever kissed a woman, man of the South?" As she asked, Glorchiniel slipped her arm around his neck. Before he could answer, she planted her lips on his. At his other side, her sister released her hold on him as well, and he could feel her arrange herself beneath his arm so that he was able to embrace her. A probing tongue slipped between his teeth.

"My turn," he heard Glawareth say, and suddenly one soft mouth replaced the other. Beneath the water he could feel their long, smooth limbs sliding against him, twining around his legs; they both had one arm around his neck, one crossed over the other. He held onto them at their waists, tentatively at first, unsure of how far he could go with his hands. His biggest fear now was to lose their company by acting unmannerly, although the limits of polite behavior with naked ellith in a bath were not necessarily clear.

Neither of them was shy with her caresses, however, and while one kissed him the other one would stroke his chest or let her fingers drift lower, perhaps over his rippling abdomen or along his sensitive flanks, although not as low as before. Finally, he drew up the courage to let his hands travel freely over their bodies, and they murmured their appreciation.

The only other woman he had ever touched below the waist had been the courtesan, and he had a good firm grasp on her large fleshy haunches and remembered how she felt quite well, and recalled the sensation often into his mind. The firmer, rounder, smoother bottoms of the ellith were nearly as amazing an experience for him as the way their firm breasts felt pressed against his chest.

"What would you like to do now, soldier?" For several seconds, it was hard to think of what more there was to be done, there were so many directions he could foresee, but Conner knew one thing above all else that he was interested in knowing about. The way they were holding themselves against him prevented him from feeling everything he wanted to know. And he wanted to do more than just use his fingers now.

"I want to..." He stopped, unsure of how to say it.

"You want to... what?" Glawareth asked. Both sisters' faces were inches from Conner's, and their strange gray eyes seemed to pierce him and attempt to find his secrets. "Say it," she added. "Do not be afraid to say what you want." They were still now, no more stroking or rubbing their slippery selves against him. He could tell that they were serious about granting his wish.

"I want to... see... you." He glanced down at what lay hidden beneath the water but could look neither sister in the face.

"I know what he wants," said Glorchiniel happily. "Come along, Conner, we need to get back to the shallow end." She released his neck and swam ahead of him and her sister, and climbed up to sit on the edge of the tub right at the top of the steps. Before he could climb all the way up to join her, she opened her legs, wide, and he stumbled on the lowest steps and ended up on his knees before her, only a few steps lower. It was close enough.

Now he truly could die, and be happy, or at least grateful for the sight. She was completely hair-free, as he had noticed earlier, but she in no way resembled a child. Her tinkling laugh drew his attention away and she smiled while she beckoned him to come up even closer. He climbed the next step on his knees, unwilling to stand and perhaps fall again.

"Do you want to touch me?" Conner did want to touch her, but he was not sure how.

Glawareth joined him on the step that he knelt on, nearly at eye-level with him, and took his elbow to move his hand forward while she exhorted him into action.

"Go ahead, touch her. She wants you to touch her, soldier man." There was a steady gentle pressure on his arm and he let her push until his hand, fingers extended, reached all the way to the soft, pink folds of flesh. "Be gentle," she said.

"Beautiful," he whispered, as much to himself as to either of them, while he explored the slippery flesh. "So...so beautiful." Glorchiniel appeared to be pleased with his cautious and careful approach in this instance, as he grew more bold she hissed and slitted her eyes.

"Here is another way to see one," said Glawareth as she turned her back to him, braced her hands on the edge of the pool and lifted her bottom to his view. "How does that look?"

"Glorious," he breathed out, when he finally found his voice. Her heart-shaped bottom was as flawless as the marble that the tub was made out of. Glawareth turned her head and looked back over her shoulder at him.

"You can touch me too," she told him while parting her legs a bit farther and arching her back a tad higher. He did, and was surprised by her strength when she clamped his hand between her thighs to press it more firmly against herself. After a moment, she began directing his motion, making him massage her to a certain rhythm. He complied.

"Move up closer to me," said Glorchiniel and when he did so, keeping his hand between Glawareth's legs, his hair was grabbed and his face drawn down. "Do you want to taste me?" He had to remove his hand from between her legs now in order to steady himself and keep his other hand between her sister's legs. He did not even come close to losing his balance this time.

Tentatively at first, he tasted the elleth with the tip of his tongue, but the fingers wrapped in his hair while pushing him even closer gave him the courage to lick there deeply and firmly. Glorchiniel purred her contentment and congratulated him on his ability, as untrained as he was, while shifting and lifting herself slightly from time to time to change the pressure to suit herself.

"Kiss me there," she directed him. "Like when you kissed my mouth." And then, "Now blow there, right there, softly." A muttered string of 'ah's' was his reward for following her directions.

The elleth beside him, perhaps feeling left out, moved her backside nearer to him, too close for his bent hand to be comfortable and he was forced to remove it. Without looking, he could tell that she was repositioning herself on the bath's steps and widening her stance. Now her bottom cheeks bumped at his hip.

"Can you think of something else you might like to do, besides just touch me there?" And without another word being said, Conner shifted slightly more at his hips and was sheathed inside of her. And he was not so eager this time as to lose all self-control.

He did not have to do any of the work. After asking him to stand still, Glawareth was content to move her hips back and forth at her own tempo, careful not to pull off of his length far enough to lose contact. She grabbed his free hand from where it lay across her waist and pulled it between her legs in front. "Stroke me like I showed you," she rasped.

Although he stood still for her for as long as he could, Conner finally could not stop himself from thrusting forward each time that Glawareth swayed into him, and her resultant moans only emboldened him to take more initiative. Now he pulled himself from her when she rocked away and thrust his pelvis forward when she rocked back.

And all the while he paid proper attention to Glorchiniel until she no longer needed to advise him, except to tell him that he was a fast learner. Both sounded very happy. But he was most proud of himself after the sisters had reached their own climax before he was through.

Glorchiniel collapsed in a dramatic heap, her sighs of satisfaction signaling that Conner's services were no longer necessary and that he was free to concentrate on her sister. With both hands at Glawareth's slender waist, he held her steady and rammed himself into her as deeply as he could, while he spent himself in exultantly snorting triumph. And when he was finished, and his head swam with ecstasy, he was still able to keep his wits about him enough to lower himself to the steps without wobbling.

Instantly, both ellith were next to him, pulling him back into the deep water again, and taking turns kissing him in gratitude for his splendid performance.

"You wicked creatures," said a woman's voice from behind them. Although he did not recognize it, the twin sisters gasped in unison, as if they knew. They turned slowly to look over their shoulders and he followed their example. The entry gate to the bathing hut was opening, and the bright sunshine that flooded into the dim room blinded the three bathers. But the two ellith beside him remained mutely calm while the stranger, haloed by the light, spoke again, "Wicked, wicked creatures."

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

Beta: Malinorne

Chapter 3

The bathhouse gate was closed and the brilliant, dazzling sunlight was cut off. The shady interior might as well have been plunged into pitch-black darkness for Conner's mortal eyes. But even so, he could still clearly see the stranger who had called them 'wicked', another elf woman, as she set a large, square-shaped cloth-covered bundle down on the stool and then drew nearer to the sunken tub's edge.

For some uncanny reason, she stood out clearly while everything around her remained in gloom. There seemed to be a glimmering light about her form, an unusual incandescence that appeared to hover over her body, but he assumed that his eyes were playing tricks on him after the temporary blindness from the gate being opened.

Conner's eyes swiftly readjusted again to the green-tinged shadowy light inside of the bathing shed and he was sure that this elleth, who stood silently regarding the three of them, was another sister; she looked that much like Glorchiniel and Glawareth. She would have been identical, to his eyes, except that her hair was darker and her face more solemn.

Gracefully, she knelt down and stared directly at him, unsmiling, but she did not appear hostile, merely curious. Her eyes were the same as the others', gray and piercing. And inscrutable.

"What have they been doing to you, man-child?" Her knowing voice was deeper than the golden-haired sisters' but reminded him of theirs. "Are they trying to drown you?"

"We are giving him a bath," answered Glorchiniel, innocently, before Conner could think of anything to say, let alone how to say it. He turned to her and smiled gratefully.

"After his long journey from the South, he badly needed one," put in Glawareth, wrinkling her nose slightly, as if remembering the way he had smelled. "And he was bored," she added.

But the strange elf lady did not act like she heard either one of them as she continued to gaze at Conner, her face expressionless. Everything grew silent, except for the constant sound of water pouring into the bath and out through the overflow drain. And the longer he stared back into her eyes, the more he felt drawn within them, as if they were portals to all of the wisdom to be found in the world.

At first, it felt wonderful to enter, as if door after door revealing door after door was opening for him. But then, that sensation changed, and he felt as if he was being pulled involuntarily deeper into her mind while being examined, without his being able to stop her. It was an uncomfortable sensation, almost painful, and he was helpless to resist. And then she smiled. It was such a warm and forgiving smile that he felt instantly relieved, as if he had passed some crucial test. The spell-like trance was broken.

"Do you feel cleansed?" she asked.

Still speechless, Conner nodded dully. He had been unnerved by her stare and reeled a little from it. But then he remembered his manners, and, after lifting his arms up to the surface of the water and turning them with his hands palm upward to show her, he answered.

"Yes, m'lady, I have never felt so clean." The rest of him below his chest was too deep for her inspection. He was not sure if he wanted her to ask to see more, or not.

On either side of him, the sisters tittered slightly at his reply while they ran their hands over the surface of his exposed forearms, and then up over his arms to his shoulders and back down. The touch of their fingers would have been thrilling, if the mysterious stranger had not been watching them.

At first, he was glad that this dark elf-lady with the penetrating stare had asked him an easy question, until he thought about it. What had she meant by cleansed? Had she just performed some kind of elvish sorcery on him with her strange gaze? Her warm and friendly smile, however, reassured him, as did her gentle voice when she spoke.

"There is very little in life that can not be made better by a hot bath. Are you hungry, man-child?" She looked at the sisters beside him, whose golden strands of hair floated around all three of them in the water like gilded seaweed, and asked them, "Have you fed him or have you both been too busy satisfying your own appetites to give consideration to our guest's other mortal needs?"

Only the merest twitching motions at the corner of the stranger's lips indicated that she was both well aware of the activities that had taken place in the bath and, perhaps, amused. Without waiting for an answer, she rose and retrieved the cloth-covered bundle from the stool and carried it to the edge of the bath.

"And are either of you going to remember your manners and introduce me to your friend?" As she asked, she removed the loose covering to reveal a shallow wooden tray laden with marvelous looking foods that emitted a savory aroma and there was a bulging wineskin in the center, too. He had not realized how hungry and thirsty he was and felt suddenly ravenous at the sight.

"This is Conner, naneth," said Glorchiniel. "He says that he is the son of one called Hedrik."

"Conner," said Glawareth, "this is our mother. Her name is Miriel." Without thinking, he shook his head in denial and even laughed at the thought, until he realized that she was serious. For a moment, he was bewildered. This beautiful elf woman was not another sister? She was their mother? And was her name Naneth or Miriel?

In the end, his training saved him and he was able to stammer out a garbled offer to be of service and a declaration of honor to meet her. But the ageless beauty did not appear to take much notice of the clumsiness of his reply.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Conner," she said and then she beckoned for the three of them to leave the bath to join her.

Reluctantly, Conner followed Glorchiniel and Glawareth as they moved to the steps, but he was relieved when they paused first to retrieve large drying towels from the back of the shelf where the soaps and washcloths were stored. At least he would not have to drip while eating lunch.

"Dry him off well, dear daughters," ordered Miriel, although her tone did not indicate that she considered it a chore. "We do not want him to catch a chill while a guest here, do we?" For a fleeting moment, even though he was hungry, Conner almost resented the interruption for a meal. He was just getting used to being alone, and naked, and in hot water, with these lovely women, and now he realized that he would probably have to dress again. In all of those layers.

Even worse, the twin sisters would probably put their dresses back on, too. He tried not to stare at their breasts, and other parts, as they diligently toweled him off from head to toe, but it was hard not to notice and it was probably his last chance. The towels were made of a fluffy absorbent fabric, as soft as lambs-wool on his bare skin, and he soon forgot his bitter feelings as he was patted and rubbed all over with them.

Finally, the sisters were done, but instead of letting him dress, they wrapped a dry towel around his waist, and cleverly fixed it in place so that it would not slip off. Their vigorous rub-down had been arousing and he was glad for the covering. They wrapped towels around their own waists, too, but otherwise did not cover themselves before they joined their mother. They knelt down by the makeshift tablecloth and left room for him between them. Everyone acted as if there was nothing abnormal in being clad only from the waist down.

But Conner felt nearly naked under the calm regard of the elf-lady, Miriel. In truth, she did not look motherly at all, or even older than his Captain, but he was still uncomfortably aware of her status. The twin ellith had hair long enough to act as a curtain over their nakedness, and their legs were smooth and slender. Between them, out of the buoyant water, he felt clumsy again, and he could not easily fold his thick legs to kneel like they could. He had to sit with his knees bent up before him, which made it hard for him to remain modestly covered.

"Conner seems a sturdy name," Miriel said, after she had spread the picnic out on the cloth. "And I believe it has been more than a dozen long years since I have last seen a Gondorian's chest hair."

"It is nice to look at, is it not?" Glawareth moved closer to him and patted the smooth chevron of sandy curls that grew on his chest. "And nicer to touch than I thought it would feel." The wine was poured into bowls, and Conner was surprised at how delicious it tasted compared to the bitterly sour vintage he was used to at home. He tried not to gulp it.

"I like his legs," said Glorchiniel, offering Conner some pieces of fruit and cheese on a napkin as she contemplated his lower limbs. "He is like a Beorning." When she shifted around, her hair did too, and he could catch glimpses of the skin beneath its golden veil and could just discern the curve of her breast.

"He is nothing like a Beorning," replied Glawareth, offended. Conner had no idea what a Beorning was, but he had not felt terribly insulted by the term, although he did feel suddenly self conscious about the hair on his legs, which he had never noticed much before today. "Beornings are like bears even when in their own skins," she added with a slight twinge of disgust in her voice.

"You are right," her sister said. "I am sorry, Conner, you are nothing like a bear, you are more like a..." She cocked her head, in the same way she had done when he had first seen her in the library, while she thought about it.

"A stag!" Glorchiniel announced first.

"No, not a stag, a stag is too wild," her sister protested. "More like... a stallion."

"A stallion? With these thick muscular thighs and sturdy calves?" Glorchiniel stroked those parts of his leg as she referred to them, sending goose bumps up to his hairline. "Maybe a boar?" And while the twin's bantered good-naturedly about what type of furred animal Conner most closely resembled, he felt more and more proud of his bulky physique, and less clumsy. The wine flowed freely, the delicious food appeased his hunger, and, for the first time since he had arrived, he felt almost at home.

But he still felt underdressed as long as their mother had her gown on and he wondered about that rule he had been advised of earlier, the one about how it was considered rude to remain clothed in the bath house. Maybe it only counted if actual bathing was taking place? He decided that it did not matter because he would never mention it out loud. However, as soon as he thought it, Miriel turned to him and this time her bright eyes shone with amusement.

"Where are my own manners to remain dressed?" To Conner's amazement, and delight, she stood and removed her gown. The sisters clapped as she stood unashamed before them all. Her figure was as slender and youthful as her daughters', and her skin had the same smooth marble-like texture.

And only after Conner got over the initial shock of her undressing did he wonder if the elf woman had just read his mind. It gave him an all-over chill to consider it, but his face felt as if it was burning at the same time. He had been warned, many times, that the elves had unnatural ways about them, and to be always on guard in word, deed, and thought. At least he had not given away any military secrets. Miriel's voice brought him back to the present.

"And now you three are all overdressed." The sisters took the hint, stood, and swiftly lost their towels, but Conner was not so quick to remove his, not until he had willed his overly eager male parts to calm down. It was easier to control his urges now, after having spent himself so thoroughly within the willing Glawareth, for which he would always be grateful, but the sight of the naked ellith again was a surprise that caught him off guard.

And to think that he was sure that he had taken his last glimpses of them while they were drying him off, not that he was sorry for the peeking.

After a few deep breaths, Conner finally felt settled down enough to reveal his private parts, and he stood to drop his towel as casually as the ellith had done. It was hard not to feel shy in front of the mother of his bathing partners, but he was trying to go along with the customs of these captivating creatures while a visitor in their enchanted valley. He could not remember ever being completely naked in front of any woman, including his own mother, even as a child.

"A clean body is healthy, and to keep the body in good health is a soldierly duty, Conner," Miriel explained. "Otherwise you shall not be able to keep your mind strong and clear. And it is only with a clear mind that you can ever be of proper service to those who most depend on you. Do you agree?" With a few subtle gestures, she managed to silently direct her daughters to spread their towels on the floor.

"I... yes, I agree." Conner thought he did, anyway, although he truly was not that convinced that a clean body was a soldierly duty, but it would do no good to disagree. There was one rule he had been taught to fall back on if all else failed, 'While amongst strangers, one must avoid insulting anyone by accident.' But what if even thinking such thoughts of disagreement was the same as saying them out loud? As if in answer, Miriel laughed, a low throaty chuckling.

"To be an agreeable guest one need only enjoy oneself," she said, and this time he was not that bothered by his mind being read. "Now do be a good guest and lie down there," she gestured to the spread towels, "and rest, you must be weary." Glawareth sat on the towels, too, and she beckoned for Conner to put his head on her lap.

Glad to obey, Conner stretched out and stayed still while Glawareth gently ran her fingers through his hair. Glorchiniel sat beside her sister and hummed a soothing melody. It was a very relaxing position, after his bath and meal, and he felt a bit drowsy. He was a little regretful that they were not all taking better advantage of being naked, now that he was feeling much less self-conscious, and he was worried that he might fall asleep.

Miriel knelt beside him, close enough that her bent knees brushed against his side, and spoke wisely, "Do not spoil your peace of mind by desiring for more pleasure, but remember that what you have experienced here is among the things that most men in Middle-earth can only dream about."

"I will never forget," he vowed seriously, feeling somewhat chastened by her words.

"And I think that the time has come for me to make a careful inspection of my daughters' handiwork, Conner," Miriel said and her eyes had an odd gleam. Conner's heart pounded as the absurd image of a predator about to devour its prey came unbidden into his mind. However, if she was going to pounce on him, then, unless she displayed actual fangs and talons, he was willing to let her.

"Yes... yes, m'lady," he stammered, although he was not sure if her remark required a response for she had said it as a matter of fact.

"I want to see how clean you really are."

Disappointingly, Miriel did not pounce. Instead, using one hand, she gently traced her fingers over his face, neck, and shoulders. Down each arm she continued to his hands, which she examined one by one before placing them at his sides. She seemed pleased to note how healthy his skin was, for a human, and congratulated her daughters for doing a good job at revealing it.

Being this near to her nude form made it hard to concentrate on her words, or maybe he felt befuddled because she was close enough for him to detect the fragrance of what must have been perfume, or was it her natural scent? He regretted that she had not joined them earlier.

Then she shifted her touch even lower, over his stomach and below his navel, and Conner prayed that he would not embarrass himself by visibly becoming aroused, but he hoped that, if he did, she would keep going with her inspection. Involuntarily, he squirmed slightly when her fingers glided firmly over his groin and then swerved at the last moment to travel slowly down the outside of his hip.

"Relax, Conner," Glawareth said to him and then, to Miriel, "I think he is ticklish, naneth." And now Conner understood that 'naneth' was their word for mother.

"A mortal's skin is more sensitive to the touch than yours or mine is, and their nerve endings more excitable." To demonstrate, Miriel stroked a fingertip over the sole of his foot and, though he fought to remain still, his toes wiggled. The twin ellith giggled.

"Mortals are very fun to play with," said Glorchiniel.

"He is certainly clean everywhere that I can see," announced Miriel as she moved her hand from his foot over to his ankle and then up to his knee before withdrawing it. Conner was momentarily crestfallen that she was finished. "Maer," she declared, proudly. Her daughters murmured back replies in their own language, too, but he could guess that they were saying 'thank you'.

"However, there is one last place to examine," she added, "an area which is presently partially hidden from my view." Up until that time, Conner had held his legs close to each other. He felt slightly dizzy when her smooth small hand slipped between his thighs and nudged them apart, and he watched as she bent to have a closer look between them before her hair spilled over his abdomen, and her face, like a curtain, obscuring his view.

"Ah, I had forgotten the singular aroma of mortal male flesh." He could feel her breath on his most private parts as she handled him there. Kindly, she drew her screening hair away from her face and cast a glance at him. "There is only one sure way to tell if this area is clean."

As Conner watched, enthralled, her delicate pink tongue darted out to taste him there with soft, swift licks. She went even lower and tasted the soft parts below for a time before returning to the weeping tip, which she teased daintily. But after she took him all the way into her mouth, he found it much harder to focus.

There was something about the way her exquisitely shaped lips stretched as they moved on his rigid flesh that made him moan while his head fell back onto Glawareth's lap. He could feel her tongue moving, suckling him, and he groaned in ecstasy. But then she stopped; the intimate inspection was over, and much too soon for Conner. When Miriel sat back up straight, it was all he could do to stop himself from pleading for her to continue.

"Overall, you have made a satisfactory effort, daughters." Her voice was cool and emotionless, as if she was completely unaware of Conner's throbbing distress. "And an excellent performance at polishing his... worthy equipment." She looked down and smiled into his eyes, but he did not see an ounce of pity within hers. His loins ached.

"It is a worthy sword," agreed Glawareth.

"You mean he is a worthy stallion," said Glorchiniel, who took advantage of Miriel's careful preparations, and, before Conner could even brace himself, pounced on him, straddling his thighs. "Be still, my gentle steed," she told him, "while I seat myself."

Conner had not the least desire to delay or discourage her, and he remained as still as stone, holding his breath, while she guided him within her. Never in his life had he felt such an enormous wave of gratitude. After she was completely filled, she sat still on him, and guided his hands to touch her body. For the third and last time that day, as he stroked her velvety skin, he was ready to die from pleasure, if that was the elliths' ultimate aim, which he had decided it was.

Now this was a view he had never had yet, and when she began to move again, he let go of her breasts in order to watch them bounce, and then he was mesmerized by the sight between her legs while she lifted and lowered herself on him. Before long, she was moving too swiftly for him to appreciate the finer details of the operation, and finally he bucked his hips upwards to meet her while he climaxed explosively, not caring if it was too soon or who was watching or if it would kill him.

----

When Conner awoke, he thought he had heard someone saying his name. He sat up straight and instinctively grabbed for his sword. Instantly he was on his feet, staring around in wonder, and completely disoriented. Not only was he outside of the bath house, but he was dressed, too. How did that happen? And where were the ellith? He had been napping against the bowl-shaped shed, and it was a mystery to him how he had come to be there.

"There you are," said a voice familiar to Conner, and he whirled to greet his Captain. How long had he been asleep? Boromir did not look happy, but neither did he seem angry. If anything, he appeared thoughtful.

"Sir, I did not hear you, have you been calling for me?"

"No, I have just now come to find you." His Captain glanced back over his shoulder at the large house and was silent for a moment before continuing. "The council is over," he said, a bit grimly. "There is to be dinner served and you are allowed to attend with me." Boromir seemed to notice Conner at last, and his attitude changed from distracted to interest as his eyes swept over him from top to bottom. "You do not seem the worse for wear," he said with a wide smile. "Have you had a bath?"

Hesitating, Conner considered his answer, and his position, and his rank, and the amount of questions he would have to answer added to the amount of teasing he would probably endure, and decided to say no. But, before he could reply, his Captain broke into his thoughts.

"No matter, young squire," said Boromir. "However it was that you spent your day is your own affair, although at your age I would have used the opportunity to chase elf-skirts around inside of the house." He winked at Conner and turned to lead the way to the promised dinner. "And I am happy to see that you used some of that free time to polish your sword."

For several heart-banging moments, Conner wondered how his Captain had guessed the truth about his encounter with the trio of elf-ladies, and tried to quickly come up with a reasonable explanation for his eagerness to join the debauchery.

Luckily, something made him glance down at the sword on his hip, and he noticed that the handguard, below the hilt, was nearly twinkling; it was so clean. Cautiously, he withdrew a few inches of the blade from its scabbard and saw that it had an almost mirror-like finish that he had never been able to achieve on his own. The ellith.

More careful inspection revealed that his clothes had been cleaned and mended, too, and his boots had been buffed until they were glossy. He felt dashing.

"A well-polished sword is a sure sign of respect for a worthy weapon," remarked Boromir.

"Aye, sir, it is that," agreed Conner happily, although more to himself than to his Captain. "That it surely is."

The End

A/N: This is a highly edited edition of the original tale. If you want to read the naughtier Director's Cut, please visit my homepage by going to my Profile page and clicking on 'homepage'


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